


These Were Lies #4: Fred

by voleuse



Series: These Were Lies [4]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-07
Updated: 2005-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-04 11:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>I will not speak of the undying glory of women</em>.<br/>Nine women Spike used to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Were Lies #4: Fred

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through S5. Title, summary, and headings taken from _Not Marble Nor the Gilded Monuments_ by Archibald MacLeish.

_I shall say you were young, and your arms straight, and your mouth scarlet:  
I shall say you will die and none will remember you:  
Your arms change, and none remember the swish of your garments,  
Nor the click of your shoe._

 

Fred works in her office for hours, inputting the data they gathered from Spike's corporealization. Or incarnation, technically.

The data was entered weeks ago, but she thinks it could be applied to other poltergeist situations as well. The circumstances wouldn't be exactly the same, but something Knox said off-hand earlier gave her an idea, and she wants to get her thoughts down while the experience is fresh in her mind.

By the time she saves the file and shuts down the computer, the rest of the crew is long gone.

She makes her way down to the lobby, which is empty, save for Brian from Security, Martha from Custodial, and Spike.

She greets Brian, asks Martha how her daughter's doing at UCLA, and stops short in front of Spike. She's not sure how to make small talk with someone who's dead twice over, but as she stands there, he circumnavigates the lobby three times, and that, at least, bears comment.

"Hey," she attempts.

Spike stops, sort of smiles. "Fred."

"Bored?" As he starts walking another circle, she joins him, pausing only to wave good-bye to Martha as she departs.

Spike nods politely as well, tucks his hands into his pockets. "Not much to do, really," he says. "Don't have a job. Don't have a higher purpose. I'm just...here."

"Oh." Fred thinks about this, then her stomach growls. "You want to get a pizza?"

He looks at her, and his mouth twitches. "After you," he replies, and sweeps his arm out like a gentleman.

Fred giggles.

*

 

Illyria is staring at the sunflower on Harmony's desk. Not just staring, but gazing into its center, her eyes narrow.

Spike doesn't want to ask, but he can't help but draw closer.

She--it?--doesn't smell like Fred. Fred smelled like baby powder, and cotton, and ozone. Illyria smells like leather and death.

"This flower does not belong here," Illyria intones. "It is dying."

Spike inspects the flower in its vase. "It's wilting."

Illyria straightens, tilts her head to look at him. "Do you wish something of me?"

He grimaces. "Not unless you can turn back time, love."

"I traverse the dimensions as I choose." Illyria walks toward him, each step a deliberate footfall. "But I cannot return this body."

"Didn't think so." He starts to turn, thinks to mouth a farewell.

But Illyria has returned back to the sunflower. She reaches out a hand, probes its petals with a delicate touch.

He walks away.


End file.
